


Delay the Inevitable

by rosweldrmr



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Cross-Posted on Tumblr, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 21:11:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2521940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosweldrmr/pseuds/rosweldrmr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they inevitably have the knock-down, drag-out fight that’s been building all semester it’s safely tucked away inside Connor’s apartment that’s too clean and too bright and smells like cologne and Chinese takeout.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delay the Inevitable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ivorygraves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivorygraves/gifts).



It's an accident. No, that's a fucking lie. It's way more than an accident. It's a fucking Greek travesty the first time Asher catches himself wondering what kind of kisser Connor is.

And so the soul-scrubbing, binge-drinking, rando-chick fucking commences. He lowers his usual 6.5 scale to a paltry 4.5 and swings a 2F three-way that pacifies his poor rattled nerves.

And he thinks that's the end of that. He chalks it up to a lot of long hours in close proximity to Connor's rampant sexual innuendos. He chalks it up to anything but what it was.

Because Asher is a great many things, not limited to but including suave as fuck and smart as hell, but he is at least self aware enough to know that among his chief attributes is A) stubbornness B) competitiveness, and C) curiosity. These are the things that make him the sick-ass lawyer he's going to be one day. All rich and badass, winning cases and nailing hotties.

But as they sit for the eighteenth hour, trapped in the wicked witch’s house, trying to research obscure legal precedence, Asher is beginning to worry that these are the exact attributes that may be his downfall.

 He manages to chug back his seventh energy drink and power through the momentary lapse in sanity, but he's beginning to feel like maybe that's all he can do.

Delay the inevitable.

Connor doesn't make things any better. He seems to have narrowed his single minded attention solely on Asher. It's a challenge, or a game. He's not sure. All he really knows, over the next 2 months is that Connor is slowly but surely wearing him down.

Asher gets used to the random fingers that trail across the back of his neck when he doesn't realize he isn't alone. He learns to expect the way Connor will lean in too close and whisper something lewd in his ear when they're in court and Asher knows he can't retaliate. Not after that first time, when he was almost kicked out of the courtroom for screaming 'What the fuck!' at the top of his lungs. He begins to anticipate the barely-there touch of Connor’s thigh against his when they wait on uncomfortable courthouse benches.

Not like  _anticipate_ , like he’s looking forward to it. But anticipate like at least he doesn’t jump anymore. And foolishly, Asher thinks that learning not to react means winning. It isn’t until nearly the end of semester that he realizes how wrong he’d been.

In every way that matters, he’s lost.

Because when they inevitably have the knock-down, drag-out fight that’s been building all semester it’s safely tucked away inside Connor’s apartment that’s too clean and too bright and smells like cologne and Chinese takeout.

Of course they got paired together on this end-of-term case. That’s just what Asher has come to expect from his luck. He’s resigned, but more than that, he’s ready. It’s his time to shine; time to show them all what he’s made of. To prove that he’s the best, to show Connor and Michaela and everyone else that he’s earned his place here. He deserves this.

So when Connor does that thing where he touches his neck and whispers ‘you have nice lips’, Asher is skirting a fine line of sleep deprivation that means he can’t stop the chill that runs down his spine at the touch. But unlike all the other times, he’s also thirty minutes in to a handful of uppers he downed in the bathroom, so he’s also amped the fuck up and ready to show this motherfucker what he’s about.

So when he takes a swing and feels his fist connect with Connor’s jaw he’s ready to go. “Come on, pretty boy! You want it? You want me? Come and get me you piece of shit!” which is the exact last thing he should have said, because Asher’s competitiveness is nothing compared to the raging storm of vindictive, spiteful retaliation that seems to fuel Connor. His cutthroat, aggressive, obsessive one-upmanship eclipses all reason and self preservation and pushes Connor up and across the room before Asher can even brace himself.

And he’s caught, trapped, pinned (back against a wall) and Connor is kissing him. Fierce and unrelenting. And in a far away, detached corner of his mind, Asher is relieved to see that he was right about Connor all those months ago when he’d wondered what kind of kisser he was.

But Asher is nothing, if not petty. And he refuses to lose, even if that means the only way he can fight back is to  _be better at this_. So he curls his fingers in Connor’s hair and pulls until their mouths part. And Asher runs his swollen lips down the slope of Connor’s neck, and slides them back up so he can whisper “Pathetic” in Connor’s ear.

“Fuck you.” Connor whines into the heated air between them. Because he has control issues, and Asher has managed to push every one of his dom trigger buttons. “I’m gonna come in your pretty mouth, and you’re gonna beg me to fuck you.”

“You fucking wish.” Asher shoves Connor back and smirks when he stumbles. And if his eyes momentarily snap down to Connor’s crotch, it’s only because he wants to make sure he’s winning this fight. And if his hand instinctively reaches into his pants to point his own erection upward, tucked under the waste of his dress pants, it also means winning because he watches as Connor’s eyes follow the path of his hand and Asher can hear his groan from 3 feet away.

His hand still wrapped around his dick, Asher locks eyes with Connor and pumps his hand a few times. “Come and get it,” he taunts. And there is not a single fibre in his body that doesn’t mean it.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to tumblr here:


End file.
